Contact
by Kiraya
Summary: Butterfly Effect sidestory; Zack & Sephiroth friendship. Nobody can go through life alone, not even ShinRa's super SOLDIER golden boy.


**CONTACT** by Kiraya

**Disclaimer**: If it were mine, canon wouldn't be. Well, parts of it, anyway.

**Notes**: Butterfly Effect sidestory set during the Wutai war. Sephiroth is socially challenged; Zack is determined to change that.

* * *

"I just don't get how can you wear that whole getup even in this damn heat," the young SOLDIER commented, falling bonelessly into a nearby chair as he fanned himself with a packet of missives he'd borrowed from his superior's travel desk.

The taller man, accustomed by now to his aide's supremely casual attitude, did not reply, calmly sipping some water as he finished reading the latest report from the northern front. He held out his gloved hand.

Zack handed the missives over obediently, snatching a replacement from the General's outbox without missing a beat.

Sephiroth laid the papers neatly on the desk and leaned back in his camp chair. "It's armour," he said after a long moment.

"Well, _yeah_, it's armour. We all have it," Zack pointed out, rapping his knuckles against his own shoulder guards. "Why the coat, though?"

The white-haired man made a face — even after nearly two months, Sephiroth still wasn't truly comfortable with his new aide's chattiness, which he all too often opened up to in spite of himself — but didn't say anything. Instead he resumed his reading, choosing to ignore Zack, who began to hum one of those banal poppy tunes so often played on the one continental radio station they could pick up on this accursed island.

"You like people, Sinclair. You're pretty good with them."

Zack stopped humming, looked over at him. "That's what they tell me."

Leather creaked as he folded his hands. "I… have neither the time nor inclination to deal with the finer points of social interaction."

His aide snorted, almost amused. "So basically, you're trying to keep people from getting close to you."

_Said too much again, curse it_. Sephiroth's green eyes narrowed, and he gave his aide that cold, imperious stare many imitated, but none could truly duplicate.

Where many a man would have done anything possible to direct that harsh gaze elsewhere, Zack simply shook his head. "That's no way to go through life, man," he declared, swinging his feet to the floor and tossing the papers he held on the desk. "Friends help a guy keep his sanity, you know?"

A single raised silver eyebrow, pale against paler skin; the general's expression spoke volumes.

Zack only grinned. "_Well_, then, if that's the way you're gonna be about it… Just know I'm here if you need anything. And I mean anything, okay? Within reason, of course."

"Only until I decide you're more trouble than you're worth," Sephiroth said with a perfectly straight face, glancing meaningfully at the Masamune, propped up in the corner.

"Oho! Was that sarcasm? It seems our beloved General does, in fact, have a sense of humour!" The black-haired youth laughed, grabbing him in a loose headlock and tousling his hair.

Sephiroth stiffened.

People did _not_ touch him, not willingly. No one ever _had_, outside Hojo and the other scientists and doctors who'd worked on him, and even they'd handled him like a loaded gun despite their awe, loath to keep contact for longer than absolutely necessary. Touching the General was simply Not Done, unless one had a death wish.

"You don't really like it when people touch you, do you?" Zack said softly, his breath warm on Sephiroth's ear.

It was a statement more than a question. "Most people wouldn't…" he began, but then stopped. _Most people wouldn't_, he had come to learn, wasn't the sort of phrase that applied to someone like Zack. "Not… generally, no."

A sigh fluttering his hair, gentle on his skin as the other SOLDIER pulled away. "I'm sorry, sir… I'll try to remember that." He ran gloved fingers through his dark locks. "Oh, and before I forget again — I've been meaning to say this for quite a while, but anyway… I do hope we can continue to work together; I've never had the pleasure of knowing anyone quite like you before." He grinned crookedly. "I'd like to hope I'll prove worth the trouble," he added, holding out his hand.

"In spite of my better instincts, I find myself wishing that you do," the General said mildly as he accepted the other's hand, shaking it firmly.

Zack's grin widened. "Yes, sir!" he replied cockily, giving a jaunty salute as he turned and left the tent.

Sephiroth shook his head, bemused. This boy — he was only sixteen, and even at that older than many of the young men who rallied to ShinRa's banner to join the war effort — though not the most intelligent of the aides he'd been assigned, certainly was the most _unusual_. It should prove most interesting to see how long this one lasted…

* * *

With its crisp, clean air and beautiful mountains, Wutai would have been a lovely place — if not for the natives, who fought viciously and relentlessly to oust the ShinRa forces from their homeland.

Needless to say, it had been a long, brutal six months.

Sephiroth kneaded his temples, sighing as he finished reading his new orders from Midgar. Damned if he knew why this pointless war had been started, but he was duty-bound to win it — though he'd have liked to have done it with a minimum of bloodshed.

This, though… He pursed his lips thoughtfully; then, he began writing, the late fall rain drumming quietly on the canvas overhead.

"Zachary," he called several minutes later, his voice heavy with lack of sleep. Over the months he'd spent with the younger SOLDIER as his aide, the young man's casual attitude had begun to rub off a little, much to his dismay (and Zack's pleasure).

"I've told you, it's Zack, not Zachary." That familiar black-haired head poked out from behind the partition separating Sephiroth's makeshift office from his sleeping quarters. "Anyway, what's up?"

"What are you—? No, never mind." The General sighed. "Deliver these to our other commanding officers; we need to discuss the latest from Midgar before attempting such…" He gestured at the missives before him.

The other SOLDIER nodded sagely, rolling up the last of the mosquito netting he carried as he walked towards his superior's desk. "High Command's being stupid again?"

"They've only given us some of the most absurd orders since the bridge-burning that would've cut off our own supply lines as well as theirs… but the details can wait. Get going, before everyone goes to bed," Sephiroth ordered.

"Righto," Zack said cheerfully, stuffing the memos into a waterproof satchel before stepping out into the rain.

Stifling a yawn, Sephiroth reached for the final item in his inbox, a distressingly fat packet. By the Planet, what he wouldn't give for a decent night's sleep for once…

_Commendation for Promotion: Zachary Sinclair._

He blinked, reread the line, then flipped his way through the rest of the papers. Three more commendations, and… yes, even the doctor's report that had only recently become required, declaring him sufficiently fit for First Class treatments, was in there already. _Quick-thinking; cool head in emergencies. Strong officer potential; places high value on the lives of his fellow soldiers. Excellent interpersonal skills…_ Sephiroth snorted. As if that last were news to anyone.

Frowning, he laid the papers down on his desk. The President was keeping a sizeable number of SOLDIER Firsts in Midgar to defend headquarters in case of riots or terrorist attacks by those in the highly agitated Wutaiian ghettos below the Plate in Sectors Three and Four. Any Firsts the army in Wutai received were field promotions, and Sephiroth needed every one of them to bolster the guerrilla-tracking squads. If he promoted Zack, he knew they'd have to assign him a new aide… and, though he'd never admit it, he'd become rather partial to the one he had.

There was simply something _different_ about Zack. Where most people approached him with cautious fear or even envy, usually veiled by overwhelming awe or a thin veneer of respect, Zack acted no differently around him than he did around anyone else. Though at first it had irked him as much as he'd found it refreshing, Sephiroth had come to enjoy being dealt with as if he were just an ordinary SOLDIER. And yet everything Zack did was mindful of the fact that the General wasn't ordinary at all. He took a lot of the social burden off Sephiroth's shoulders without a word to his superior (who was extremely grateful for it), was respectful of his need for personal space, at least most of the time…

He sighed. He _really_ didn't want to go through all the bother of learning to deal with someone else, but…

The younger SOLDIER, finished with his deliveries, reentered the tent with his usual energy, shaking the rain from his hair as he removed his wet gloves. He stopped, though, when he saw the pensive look on his superior's face. "Something happen?"

The General cleared his throat. "Zachary Sinclair," he began formally, "your performance as a SOLDIER has been praised by your superiors, who have recommended you for promotion to First Class. You've made quite an impression on them."

His aide, recognising the formula, stood a little straighter. "I'm honoured to be regarded so highly, sir."

"Congratulations, then. You will receive your new uniforms from the quartermaster as soon as—"

"What will my duties be?" Zack interrupted.

Suddenly unable to look at the other man, Sephiroth's eyes slid down to the papers before him, reshuffling them into neatness. "As the other unranked members of First Class, you will be reassigned to—"

"Then I refuse this promotion."

The white-haired man blinked, looking back up at the younger SOLDIER. "You… refuse."

Zack had his stubborn look on again. "I believe I can serve the army better in my current position."

"…If you are worried about abandoning your duties," the General said after an awkward moment, lapsing back into the safe territory of formality, "you may rest assured that someone else will—"

"With all due respect, sir, I don't trust anyone else to handle it properly," the youth said bluntly.

His superior raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Dammit, Seph," the other SOLDIER said angrily, throwing his gloves down, "I haven't—"

The General stared. "…What did you just call me?"

Zack blinked in surprise, then ran his fingers through his hair, laughed a little. "Just a nickname, heh. Kind of just slipped out. I'll try not to—"

Sephiroth shook his head. "No… it's all right," he replied, bemused. A nickname… how strange. How… normal.

Hojo would hate it, he thought, and almost smiled at that.

"Anyway," the younger man said after a moment, "stop trying to change the subject." His face was serious as he came around the desk. "I haven't put this much effort into you just to be shuffled off somewhere else the moment it's convenient for the people running this damn circus."

The General's expression was uncomprehending. "Effort?"

"You still don't get it after all this time?" His aide shook his head disbelievingly. "There's definitely no way I'm taking that promotion, now." His dark indigo eyes were earnest and compelling as he met his superior's gaze. "When I first met you, you were more like a machine than a man: cold, distant, friendless. It's no way to live, Seph. _Nobody_ can go through life alone, not even ShinRa's super-SOLDIER golden boy. That's what I've been _trying_ to show you, though it seems you're a bit slow on the uptake, there."

Sephiroth looked away. "I don't want to have to depend on—"

"Those you care about aren't a liability, Seph. Good friends are like family; they're a blessing, people you can trust with anything, even your life."

"But—"

The black-haired SOLDIER slung an arm around him. "We're friends, right?"

Sephiroth tensed up automatically. "Zack…"

The other man shifted a little; his warm breath on the side of the General's face made him shiver. "Am I bothering you by doing this?"

Zack's head was resting on Sephiroth's shoulder, now, his arms loosely slipping down in a sort of half-hug, and the warmth (pressed damp from the rain against his back, and when those bare hands brushed against the skin of his chest through the opening of his coat the shock was like burning alive)… it felt like the warmth of what he was offering would consume the General's very soul, and it was comfortable and terrifying and wonderful all at the same time.

He wasn't sure he trusted himself to answer.

"Guess the fact you haven't maimed me yet makes that a no."

The corner of his mouth quirked upwards, and he relaxed a little. Zack often made such inane comments to lighten Sephiroth's intense moods, and… he had to admit he was grateful for it. "Maybe," he responded dryly, "you've spoiled me so much I just can't be bothered to break in a new aide again."

He could almost feel Zack smile.

* * *

Fin.

1 April 2005.


End file.
